#they are the best and they deserve a long rest!

[yanderedrabbles]

Imagine being a lady out in the Wild West, mayor's daughter, preacher's niece, something good and proper. All tight laced and demure on Sundays, sweet and pretty all week 'round.

You got plenty of admirers. Cowpokes drifting through your small town who promise themselves that the second they've got more than dirt to their name, they're coming back to marry you. Traders and tradesman who see you in your Sunday best and think how sweet it would be to have you waiting at home for them. And others too. Men with too sharp eyes and hats kept low. They think about you too, but always at night. Always with one hand slick.

You've got plenty of folk with eyes on you, but no real suitors. Whoever your guardian is, they've got high standards. Maybe your father is hoping for a good political match, or your uncle is looking for a God fearing man. Either way, you're untouchable. Untouched.

Well, until you ain't.

Maybe the man who takes you is one of those hard eyed drifters, with a mean mustang and an even meaner right hook. A crook in everything but name. Maybe he doesn't work alone, and it's a whole pack of them who grab you straight out of your backyard, hands pressed against your mouth so hard they leave bruises on your cheeks.

Either way, they've got just about one thing on their mind. And they don't want to be interrupted.

They take you out to the desert, or out into the deep woods, or far into the canyons. Somewhere lonesome. Somewhere they can take their time with you.

Maybe they succeed. Get to keep you all to themselves. A prize too sweet for men like them, a little missy who would always be out of reach if they didn't take matters into their own hands. Their hands are rough with labour - wrangling and gunslinging and digging graves for folk that wouldn't otherwise need them. And rough with you, too. Skimming up your thighs, prying them apart...

That's what folk would call a bad ending. Would shake their heads over and secretly pray that it never happens to one of their girls.

Maybe they succeed. Or maybe, just maybe... they don't.

See, the sheriff of your town is a hard man. White hat always clean, badge always shiny, but his gun is nicked with use, his spurs dull with hard riding. And when he hears what happened, it ain't long before he's on your trail. Pushing his stallion until it's frothing under the saddle. Hoping to get to you before night time. Before the sun goes down and the lust comes out.

He finds you easy enough, but it's just him against a gang and that ain't no easy win. He watches them from a distance, from up on the canyon maybe, or from between the thick trees. Sees you sitting at their campfire, hands and feet tied, pretty white dress stained with mud.

He sees that and thinks how he'd rather eat lead than see them stain the rest of you so dirty.

It ain't easy. It takes planning, skill. He lures them out one at a time and picks them off. Knife between the ribs, arrow straight through the neck, a wire pulled taught and tight around their throat. Until it's just him and the leader left - the man who chose to take you, the one who'd have gotten the prime cuts when it came to butchering your innocence.

It could go either way at this point. The sheriff ain't no slouch but the gunslinger is younger, hungrier. Folk would say the good guy should win, that justice ought to come out on top, and that you deserve your happy ending. But the truth is that they're both rotten to the core.

'Cause it ain't duty that made the sheriff ride his horse lame trying to get to you. No. It's love, of the kind just as perverse as the outlaw's. Only difference is that the sheriff has a whole society of rules and laws and expectations to keep him in check. And out here? Well, they just don't apply.

If the outlaw wins, the story ends pretty simple. He keeps you, has his way with you. Ruins you. Tucks you away in his hideout for only him to enjoy.

But I don't think that's what happens. The sheriff might not have the other man's speed, but he's got experience, age, years of watching cocksure young men giving themselves away when they go for their guns too early. He puts a bullet right in the other man's heart and steps over his body to get to you.

You're shaking, crying so hard that your gag is soaked through. Looking up at him so thankful that he wants to fuck you right then and there.

He cuts through your ropes and you hug him, not caring one bit that it ain't something a proper lady would do. He kneels on one leg and let's you cry into his shirt, voice all weak and sweet as you thank him.

"They was gonna do such awful things sheriff. Kept tellin' me how good it would be for me, but they kept touching me. Sheriff, I was so scared."

If he could, he'd kill them all over again. Instead he just holds you. Ignores the age gap between you, ignores how it ain't the proper thing to do.

"I'm here darlin'. And ain't no one gonna lay a finger on you again, you hear?"

You nuzzle into his neck, hiccuping. And God, it feels good to hold you. He's too old for you - hair going grey at the temples despite him still being lean with muscle. He's too jaded and mean for you - how can he be a good match for such an innocent thing when his hands are soaked in blood? He knows, but he just doesn't care.

Just scoops you up in his arms and carries you to his horse.

If there's one thing you ain't realised, it's that the sheriff is about as sly as he is mean. When he takes you home, he'll probably take your guardian aside for a quiet word. Lie straight through his teeth and tell them he was too late, that you were ruined before he got there.

He'll watch them go pale, watch the cogs turning. Who will want you now? And when he sees that awful realisation on their face, that's when he goes in for the kill.

Puts his hat over his heart and says he's so ashamed that he wasn't faster. That he couldn't save your innocence and your life both. That if your pa would give his blessing, he'd be more than happy to take you as his wife.

It's not the match they wanted for you. He's not a great political ally and he sure as hell ain't a God fearing man. But who else will have you once the rumours start flying?

And when they tell you, you're too shaken to object. Too indebted to the law man to wonder what he said to make them suddenly so amenable.

It's a nasty trick to pull. A theft almost as bad as your kidnapper's. You're too good for a dog like him, but he'll be damned 'fore he let's you get away. Rabid dogs sink their teeth in and never let go, didn't nobody ever tell you that sweetheart?

And on your wedding night, when he claims his reward from between your thighs, you slowly start to realise that honour isn't as easily found as you once thought, that a badge doesn't make a man good. He'll probably look up at you from between your legs, his lips and stubble shiny with your wetness. Smirking like a wolf who got locked in the pen with the whole helpless flock.

In the end, you only have yourself to blame. I tried to tell you he was rotten.

[lucigoo]

So, once agian I couldn't resist lol. Thank you for another amazing (unintended) prompt!

Toss A Coin To Your Witcher (Because I Stole His Horse) - A03 link ,a nd fic below the read more!

Jaskier stumbled down the side of the mountain, angry. In fact, he was so enraged that he didn't have the words to describe how mad he was. 

He also couldn’t stop the pathetic whimper he let out. He wasn't just angry. He was seething, raging, but also heartbroken. His heart may as well have been ripped out of his chest and crushed under Geralt's boot. It wasn't like it even belonged to Jaskier anymore. It hadn't for more years than he could count. It belonged to Geralt, and he was a careless fucking fool with it. Which had led to Jaskier stumbling down the side of a mountain with tears blurring his vision and nothing but a blind hope he was going in the right direction. 

His hope paid off when he heard Roach's distinctive sound. At her calls, more tears poured down his face. 

Jaksier rushed the rest of the way to where she was still tied up and pushed his face into her neck. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, sobbing into her coat, but stand there he did. 

Roah, usually a grouchy beast at best, just stood there, her head resting on Jaksier's shoulder as she allowed him to cry his pain out, an almost alien sentinel as he tried to purge the pain he knew he would never be rid of. 

Eventually, he ran out of tears, though his eyes felt heavy and painful. He took one last deep, shuddering sigh before stepping back and gently stroking Roach's nose sadly. "Thank you, girl. Look after him, won't you, though he doesn't deserve it. Or you or me," Jaksier whispered before he pressed a soft kiss on Roach's muzzle. 

He then turned to her saddlebags, roughly, quickly dividing his and Geralt's things. It had been a long time since they had separate ones. Geralt's things often ended up wherever Jaskier wintered, and Jaskier often never made it back from Kear Morhen, though he was never sure why. 

He took great pains to ensure all of Geralt's potions and oils were placed back in his bags, not wanting him to die from lack of them, though a bit of maiming he would heal from wouldn't go amiss. 

Jaskier finally stood there and finished dividing his and Geralt's lives up. He fought hard not to curl up and sob right then and there. He was stronger than that. Could be stronger than a wilting maiden who lost herself to heartbreak. He refused to act like that for a man who had never loved him in any way. Just because he had given Geralt his entire heart, well, he now knew Geralt didn't even consider them friends. It was also painfully obvious that Geralt must not even LIKE Jaskier, though he could never be sure why he had put up with him for so long. 

He let out a mournful sigh that echoed off the mountain and surrounded him, all but screaming his pain back at him before he shouldered his pack and turned to leave. 

As he stepped away, he turned quickly at Roach's distressed whinnies. Not that he could do anything if there was, but Jaskier whipped around, ready to defend her if necessary. But there was nothing there, just Roach pulling at her reins as he walked away from her, from Geralt. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you can't come with me. You have to stay, my lovely," Jaskier whispered as he soothed her, preparing her for him to leave again. He placed another kiss on her muzzle and turned, managing to get a few more steps before she started whinnying and calling out in even more distress. 

"Roach, darling, stop," Jaskier called as he rushed back to her. "Enough, sweet girl, before you harm yourself. You have to stay, and I have to go. He … it appears he only loves fiery mares and violet-eyed women," Jaskier said with a sad, almost desperate laugh. 

He stroked her once more before finally turning to leave and never cross paths with Geralt again; after all, he knew where he wasn't wanted. 

He got even further this time, almost around the bend, before he turned at the horrendous noise Roach was making. She was all but screeching. Thrashing and bucking, trying to rip her reins off the tree.

Jaskier once again ran back to her. He couldn't allow her to harm herself. 

He took deep breaths as he soothed Roach unsure what to do. He obviously couldn't leave her if she was going to act like this. She would hurt herself, or worse, call a monster down to do it for her when she was tied up and defenceless with no Geralt insight. 

Jaskier stayed there stroking and calming Roach for who knew how long. Still, he was very aware of time slipping away from him and the fact that whilst Geralt could throw him away like he was yesterday's rubbish, he would never do the same for Roach. 

It was then that a cruel, terrible idea came to him. One that had him giggling at its sheer meanness and one he would take full advantage of. 

"Alright, sweet, sweet girl. Let's go," Jaksier said, looking up the path. Not sure if he wanted Geralt to suddenly materialise down it and stop him or to get away with this darling horse that that fool of witcher did not and had never deserved. 

In the end, the light rain that started to drizzle chose for Jaksier. He was already smarting and brokenhearted; he didn't need to be soaking wet, too. 

He removed Geralt's saddle bags from Roach's saddle and attached them high in a tree. Leaving his own water skin and his food, as well as half of their coin that was usually in a shared purse. He may be angry, but he didn't want Geralt to go hungry or thirsty, even if Jaksier knew that, in reality, he could withstand days without either. 

He once again cursed his fool heart for still caring about the jackass before attaching his one saddle bags to Roach and carefully picking his way down the mountain, gaining speed and getting as far away from Geralt as possible as soon as the land levelled out. 

He refused to look back, refused to think about what he had lost, especially when he gave Roach her head, and she galloped away with a heart-sore bard on her back. 

You know in Burn Butcher Burn, the "all those lonely miles that you ride ,now you walk with no one by your side" part.. I've always wondered why he is using "walk" in the second verse, it's weird it almost doesn't make sense since Geralt is always on Roach or Roach is always by his side.

Well.. Guess what! That motherfucker stole the goddamn horse after the Mountain.

Good!

[chibinasuu]

riiiin it is i, nyla. diving into your inbox because the 'open for hcs/drabbles' has haunted me for too long. it's time to act on the urge- ace and sanji are two of the characters who deserve the most love but don't feel they deserve it and constantly don't see how much they are valued by those around them- what are your sappiest thoughts about the two of them?

nylaaaaa i'm afraid i got too carried away writing this, i was just so overwhelmed with ✨feelings✨ 😭

when i think of ace and sanji, the quote "we accept the love we think we deserve" somehow comes to mind. i think you're so right that they deserve all the love, but feel like they don't deserve it. ughhh i just want to give them long hugs and many many smooches 🥺

anyway thank you for stopping by my inbox!! i hope you enjoy these sappy headcanons and drabbles!

To Make You Feel My Love

Pairings: Ace, Sanji x Reader (separate)  Tags: sfw, angsty fluff(?), first time saying "i love you", GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

Ace

Ace was used to people thinking that he shouldn't have been born, so of course he didn't accept love easily—He didn't even deserve to live, so why on earth should he deserve to be loved?

Ace didn't mind fun flings, but when real feelings got involved, that was when he'd run and hide and retreat

When he found the one, he'd never be the one to say "I love you" first. He'd be too afraid of ruining things because he'd think that you wouldn't feel as strongly as he did

When you told him that you loved him, he'd have his doubts. He wouldn't get why you would choose him—the bastard son of the most dangerous pirate who had ever lived—of all the people you could get in this world. But you would convince him that he was the one you wanted, him and no one else

"I love you."

Ace tensed for a second, and then his arms around you slackened.

You pulled back slightly to look at him, studying the conflict blatantly written across his face.

You silently waited for him to process your words, your heart clenching as his gaze turned more and more distant as the seconds ticked by.

A touch of your fingers upon his brought him back to the present, and Ace finally rasped, "Why would you love the son of a criminal? How could you love a man who carries the blood of the demon in his veins?"

There was nothing you wanted more than to hunt down all of the ignorant fools who had ever said those wretched things about him.

But despite yourself, at this moment, you could only smile softly, "Well, that's because I couldn't give less fucks about who your father was, Ace. I don't care whose blood runs in your veins."

You brushed your thumb across his freckled cheek, "I love you because you're you."

Ace took a sharp inhale, and you cupped his face, guiding his eyes to look directly into yours, "I love you. My best friend. My anchor. My hearth. You."

He was quiet. You glimpsed a slight flicker of doubt that was still present in his eyes before he averted them.

Desperate to get through his thick skull, you shot at him, "Do you love me, Ace?"

"More than anything." He admitted, the answer quick to leave his mouth.

"Then let me love you too." You rested your forehead against his, "Please."

Ace's face softened as he hesitantly touched his lips to yours, kissing you gently, as if he couldn't believe that this was something he was allowed to do.

Pulling you into his warm embrace, he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel wetness slowly seeping into the collar of your shirt.

"Thank you…" He whispered as his arms tightened around your back, "For loving me."

Once Ace realized that you were truly in love with him, he would be insufferable (affectionately)

He'd be more free with his affections. He'd steal kisses from you in public, much to your mortification and endless teasing from your crewmates

He'd randomly tell you that he loves you at odd parts of the day, just so he could hear you say back that you love him too

But no matter how many times you told him you loved him, his already warm body would always grow even warmer, a soft smile would grace his lips, and he'd always think how lucky he was to be loved by you

Sanji

Sanji was never stingy with his affection toward the ladies, but he wouldn't know what to do with someone who actually showed it back

He wouldn't think that someone could actually like him, much less love him, when all throughout his childhood he was repeatedly told that he was worthless—Did his endless flirting wear you down and you're just acting like this because you pitied him? There was no way someone like you could love someone like him, right? What was there to like about him anyway?

When you told him you loved him, he wouldn't believe it at first. But of course, you'd remind him again and again that he was worthy of all the love in the world

"I'm in love with you."

You couldn't see Sanji's expression from your perch at the kitchen bar, but you noticed how his hands froze on their way to putting the clean dishes back on the rack.

How he had longed for those words to come out of your lips, but now that you actually said it…

"Sanji? Did you hear me?" You got up from your seat, walking over to him, "I said I lo—"

"Please don—" He let out a shaky breath that made you stop in your tracks, "Please don't say things you don't mean, sweetheart."

His words annoyed you, making you snap at him, "You think I'd say that if I don't mean it?"

You stepped closer to him and took his hands, searching for his eyes that refused to meet yours.

"It's just—You can't possibly be in l-love with… me." His brows furrowed, each word more difficult for him to say than the last, "I-I'm not worthy of you, darling. Please don't waste your precious love on me."

Your heart ached for him. You couldn't imagine what this sweet man must have endured in the past to ever think that he wasn't worthy of being loved.

"Sanji, you're the kindest and most gentle soul I know." You run your fingers softly through his blond hair, "There's no one more worthy and deserving of love than you. There's no one else I'd rather love than you."

You cupped Sanji's face as tears started to flow freely from his eyes.

His voice was so small that you could barely hear it, choked out in between his sobs, "Do you really mean it?"

"I do." You pressed your lips to his forehead, "I love you, Sanji."

Sanji closed his eyes, reveling in the truth that you bared out to him.

You moved your lips down to his nose, and repeated, "I love you."

Kissing the tears away from his cheeks, you whispered again, "I love you."

When you reached his lips, no more words were needed as you poured all of your feelings into a tender kiss that made Sanji's heart dance in his chest.

And then finally, finally, he sighed out, "I love you too."

Even after Sanji accepted your love, he'd have a hard time actually hearing those three little words from you. He'd lose all of his composure every time you told him you loved him, the usually suave cook reduced to a bumbling, blushing mess

Whenever Sanji told you that he loved you, it would be different from the countless times he had loudly and obnoxiously proclaimed his love to all the ladies in the past. It would be soft, hesitant but certain at the same time, and it would be dripping with real love.

He'd sometimes stare at you with a shy smile, suddenly blurting out, "I still can't believe you love me. Would you tell me once again, please, my love?"

You would. And you'd tell him a thousand times more.

↳ masterlist

[tusk-rumours]

surprise, baby ☄︎*.⋆ — sam winchester x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

summary: sams girl surprises him with something pretty, and sam can hardly take it.

warnings: nsfw, 18+!! fingering, p in v, swearing, shifts in dom/sub, incredibly horny writing

a/n: SURPRISE!!!! you thought this was over? lmao okay but seriously things happened and my need for sam got so bad that it healed my writing slump to the point that i picked up again so here's this!! it is taking a hell of a lot of bravery to post this so i’ll try my best not to delete it lmao, but man i want sam so bad i'm so hor— okay that's enough.

also i listened to the morning by the weeknd on repeat writing this, if that gives any indication as to where my mind was lmao. and this gif????? came.

Sam was honestly struggling to keep up with her. He loved it, god he loved it, but fuck it was a lot to handle. Couldn't she see what she was doing to him? She could. And that there was the problem. She relished in how he'd freeze when he saw her, how he'd fumble all over his words and stumble over his long legs when she beckoned him closer.

She'd been surprising Sam with lingerie constantly recently. Whether it was new sets she bought as a surprise, old sets, or even sets he bought her himself, Sam felt like he saw her in them more than actual clothes. There was nothing Sam could think of that would've given her this idea, nothing he said, nothing she said. But something had stirred in her cheeky brain a couple of weeks ago. Sam didn't know what the hell he did to deserve this kind of heaven, but he definitely wasn't complaining.

It started when she'd padded into the library in her fluffy dressing gown while he was researching. She'd stepped between his legs, pulling down the fluffy fabric at her chest and teasing a peek of the lace underneath. She let him unravel the knot like some sort of present, and soon enough he had the books on the floor, and her body laid out on the table with the fluffy fabric cushiony beneath her. He didn't know what the surprise was for, but he didn't question it, just relished in the treat he was getting.

Then it was the photos she sent while he was out investigating. In the bed they share, the camera angled down her lace-clad body. He almost choked on his drink when he saw that, quickly shielding the screen from Dean, before excusing himself. He stood in that bathroom stall for close to fifteen minutes, trying so goddamn hard not to pump himself right there with the picture of her on the screen in his hand.

Then it was the set she had on when he came back in the bedroom after some late-night research, perched on the bed. Then the path of her clothes from the library to their room, ending with her lacy panties by the door, which he opened to find her on the bed wearing nothing at all.

And then the several other times too.

She was being a tease. And he knew full well she was having more than just fun with this.

He should've expected it this time. Really, he should've. She'd been at the bunker researching all day while Sam and Dean were out playing FBI. Sam was already gonna drag her into bed that morning when she stood in front of him, doing up his tie and tightening it around his neck. She almost drooled when she saw him standing there, visions of that tie around her wrists, or even around his. Visions of those steam-ironed clothes crumpled on the floor, his bare hips snapping against hers. But not yet. That was for later.

By the end of a day of interviewing witnesses, assessing crime scenes and mulling it over in a diner, Dean decided to rest it over by spending the night at a bar. As for Cas, he very rarely dropped in without Dean there ever since he caught them both on the library table. She couldn't stop laughing, finding it even funnier whenever she looked up and saw Sam's red, mortified face. Cas had just stood there, before asking if they both wanted to be alone, which sent her into another fit, listening to Sam's exasperated 'yes!'. Once he left, they couldn't even pick up where they left off, Sam too horrified and she too hysterical.

So Sam had called her, telling her he'd be the only one home tonight, the ideas she'd get from that somehow slipping his mind.

So, yeah, he should've expected it when he shut the door of the bunker, heading down the stairs casually and into the library, before lifting his head up and stopping dead in his tracks. He stood frozen, his mouth open dumbly, his eyes just short of popping out of his damn head.

"...holy shit." He slipped out beneath his breath.

She giggled from where she lay on the couch. Stretched out on her back, her arms lazily on the pillows above her head. Her body in a pretty two-piece lace set that was completely sheer save for some embellishments here and there, with matching sheer thigh highs clad her legs up to her thighs, adorned with lace on the top.

He was gone.

His bag slipped off his shoulder to the floor with a thud, his mind lost in the way her legs shift, the way the mesh and lace cover her skin so perfectly. She just looked so sexy, it knocked the air straight out of his lungs.

He shut his eyes for a moment, huffing out a breath, steeling himself. Without a word, he's shrugging off his blazer. She bites her lip as she watches him, her fingers lightly feeling through her hair. The blazer falls to the floor, and those pretty fingers move to his tie, fumbling with the knot as he loosens it up, and god the way his veins flex with each little movement—.

She grins, watching him strip down in front of her. She didn't even have to say a word, or move, and she's already got him with his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his pristine white shirt. She throws her head back with a huffy laugh.

"God, you're so fucking sexy, Sammy," She shakes her head, her gaze turning to him. His cheeks pinken, abashed at the way she compliments him.

Beneath her amused gaze, there's a fiery hunger, and it makes Sam completely weak as his hands move to the hem of his undershirt, pulling it up and off his head in an instant, his muscles flexing. Then that adds to the growing pile too, and he's before her bare from the waist up, and the things she wants to do to him when she sees him like this.

One of her arms lazily extends out towards him, beckoning him closer. Once he's close enough, her fingers grasp at his belt, making him gasp, his skin shuddering where her fingers brush. Her fingers work at the buckle, undoing it swiftly, her lip between her teeth in anticipation. Then she pulls at the belt, glancing up at him cheekily as she drags it through the loops until it dangles from her hand.

His breath catches in a startled whimper when the belt clanks to the floor and her fingers dip beneath the waistband of his jeans, tugging him even closer. She rolls onto her side slowly, resting her head on her hand, looking up at him through her lashes, his clothed dick so close to her mouth now.

"...You sure the couch is gonna— h—have enough room?" Jesus, how does she reduce him to such a stuttering mess like this so easily?

She just laughs, her thumb rubbing the skin by his happy trail.

"You have a better place you wanna take me, baby?"

Oh, god.

Even though the bed, or even the table, or the goddamn floor might be more practical, he doesn't care. He can't spare another second. He's crowding her space, mounting the couch and settling down on top of her, his hand grabbing her head and guiding her into a consuming, passionate kiss. His tongue wastes no time invading her mouth, and fuck she tastes so sweet. The upturn of her lips and the moan she lets out into his mouth only makes his cock throb harder within his jeans. Their bodies shift and writhe against each other desperately, both of them so ridiculously turned on.

That sneaky hand of hers is moving between them, finding the button of his jeans and popping it free, her fingers brushing against his sensitivity as she drags down the zip.

"Shit," He hisses, his nose scrunching in that perfect way.

His hand finds hers and pulls it away, pinning it back against the cushion. He wants to worship her. How can he not when she looks this goddamn good? And for him?

He drags his lips away from hers, taking her in again.

"God, baby, you're stunning. So fucking sexy. When'd you get this one?" He's panting, his breath chasing his words.

"Today," She muses, rubbing her fabric-covered calf against his leg. "Hoped it'd get this reaction."

"As if I would react any less, seeing you in this," His eyes are full of wonder, like he can't quite believe this perfect body and beauty that is his girl is beneath him. He can't stand his mouth not being on her for one more second.

He dives into her neck, relishing in the way she moans, her head turning to expose her neck. He sucks and nips, wanting to leave hickeys against the faded ones. His lips, tongue and teeth work feverishly down her neck to her collarbone, teeth dragging against the chain of her necklace, down to her breasts, covered by the black mesh fabric of her sheer bra, which does nothing to conceal her hardened nipples. God, that sight was just so fucking sexy to him.

She throws her head back in a moan when he starts licking one of her nipples through the mesh and lace in long, firm licks before he's sucking with his lips. His big hand squeezes the other, feeling and rubbing the thin fabric. Then he swaps over, and she's writhing, her fingers threading into his hair. The warmth of his tongue against the mesh is just too good of a sensation.

"Sam, fuck," She breathes, needing more. Needs those jeans of his off. So she takes.

He pulls his mouth away when he feels her trying to tug at his jeans, helping her get them off quickly. It relieves some of the pressure, but there was still so much restriction. He wouldn't be satisfied until he was buried deep inside her.

It's frantic, the way they touch each other, fingers fumbling with clothes.

"Shit, I don't even wanna take this off you baby, its too pretty," Sam mutters out, his actions contradicting his words as he fumbles with the clasp of her bra, throwing it somewhere in the direction of the floor.

She bites her lip. She loves being exposed to him. In a space where she feels equal amounts safe and sexy. Her palms flatten and run along the large expanse of his back, shimmying her hips to help him pull down her lacy panties. He doesn't bother with her thigh highs, whenever she wears something like that, he always prefers it staying on.

"Please, oh—" She moans into his ear, hips writhing against his with need.

"Baby, I gotta — fuck — gotta prep you first," He chokes out. He wants nothing more than to be inside her, but he needs to get her ready first. And feeling her slick on his fingers and the warmth of her pussy is an opportunity he never passes.

And so his hand runs down her body, squeezing her breast along the way, feeling her stomach shudder underneath his fingertips, teasing above the area between her legs. Then the pads of his fingers slide down firmly, and her moan is all kinds of sweet and dirty at the same time. He gathers her slick, and she's so goddamn wet, spreading it along her folds, settling on her clit and rubbing tight circles.

She bites her lip, her eyes shut and hips rolling into his hand, completely lost in the pleasure, and the sight of her like this is so fucking sexy, he's blabbering and cursing under his breath.

"Shit, you— you look too damn good, y— so hot, I can't—" It's all so overwhelming, but he needs more, so his fingers move to her entrance, slipping inside, stretching her gently. Her mewls are like a symphony to his ears, so sweet and perfect he'll be thinking about them for weeks.

"That good, baby?" He smiles, his lips brushing against her temple, feeling the sheen of sweat forming at her hairline.

"Uh huh, uh hu— oh," She can't even form words, her walls squeezing as her orgasm catches up to her fast. He feels it, moaning at the way she clenches and flutters. He knows the exact moment she comes, from her sounds, to the way her body tenses, and the way her legs jerk.

He watches her with awe, the sight of her blissed out face otherworldly to him. Usually he'd give her a few minutes to come down, but he's thrown off guard when her fingers fumble with his boxers, tugging and pulling.

"These, off," She demands, and god, who is he to refuse her?

So they join the pile on the floor. Her tiny black lingerie against his FBI suit.

She bites her lip, her gaze moving back to him. He's so hard, and perfect, and she's been fantasising about this sight all day.

Her gaze drags back up to his, heavy-lidded and sultry, and Sam needs to see the way her expression changes when he pushes into her.

"Sam, fuck me now." Her voice lowers, serious and commanding, and Sam would do the most embarrassing things imaginable if she asked him like that.

"Baby, I don't— don't have a condom on me," He whispers back. Always a man of safety.

"God, Sam, does that matter? We don't need one, it's fine," She reassures him, her hand in his hair.

She's right. It definitely wouldn't be the first time they've done it raw, and Sam'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little obsessed with taking her that way. They know what they're doing. It's fine.

Without a word he lines himself up, pushing into her, watching the way she smirks, her eyelids fluttering.

"That's it, honey," She breathes, a soft moan accompanying her words.

He's close to bottoming out when her mesh-clad legs wrap around his waist tightly, pulling him into her. He hisses, his grip on her hip tightening.

"F—fuck, you're insatiable,"

She just smirks, breathing hard as her limbs curl around him tight. She makes sure she's got his eyes on hers when she reinstates his point, arching her back and rolling her hips into his.

The broken, loud moan he lets out into her ear has her grin widening.

She continues her ministrations, forcing his eyes not to shut and to meet hers, no matter how much he wants to bury his face into her neck. Soon enough he's rolling his hips into hers, meeting her movements, the sensations only heightened by the intimacy of their connection.

Her expression is hungry, powerful, taking what she needs, and Sam is fucking mesmerised by the way her body moves so smoothly and sensually beneath him.

"God, baby, I—" He groans, feeling her squeeze so deliciously around him. "What're you doing to me?" He chokes out, then his forehead drops against hers, his hips picking up the pace, thrusting deeper.

The pretty moan she lets out turns into the sexiest giggle he's ever heard, and jesus, how is being so deep inside of her almost not enough?

"Oh, fuck—" He hisses. He's so goddamn close. He can feel her squeezing him harder, like a fucking vice, and he'd stay with her like that always if he could.

"Come for me, baby,"

That bed voice she uses is going to ruin him. It's impossible to hold back when she gives him permission like that, and it's all so overwhelming when he fills her up, warming her walls.

The sensation of him coming inside her so deep is just so good, and her second orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, moaning so sweetly, the pleasure all-consuming.

Their chests heave, their minds still so hazy with pleasure. However, Sam has enough consciousness to guide his lips to hers, moaning against her lips, the feel of them feather-soft, the taste of them so sweet. His tongue slides against hers, kissing her like he needs to feel every inch of her mouth to breathe.

"I should've known," He shakes his head affectionately, his tongue slipping into her mouth again.

Her lips upturn against his, and he won't even try to ask why she's doing this this time around, because he'll get the same answer as every other time: 'you complaining?'. So cryptic his girl was. But god if her playfulness didn't drive him wild.

Their mouths disconnect, and her tongue flicks out again to clear up a bit of saliva on his bottom lip. This girl.

"So, this really that fun for you, sweetheart?" He asks instead.

"Uh-huh," She muses cheekily. Of course she's not gonna elaborate. His baby could tell him to step off a cliff with no other instruction and he might just do it. He'd run around in circles just to be near her.

His fingers fix her hair up a little, his body making no move for round two.

"Don't tell me you're done with me already," She giggles. "We've got a whole bunker to ourselves, many unchristened places, and I've got plenty of stamina left in me, baby. So, can you keep up with me?"

...Fuck.

taglist <3 : @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @mxilkyways @saltcxrcle

[malk1ns]

march 1 vs bruins, 3-2 loss

lotta angry penguins out on the ice today in that one, huh? wowie.

this postgame puts this project over 100k. dang. thanks for coming along with me!

Zhenya narrows his eyes across the weight room where Sid is grunting through a set of bench presses.

There was no skate before today’s game, but the gym session is still mandatory even if most of the guys are phoning it in a little, half-heartedly racking weights and getting in a few reps before they pause to chat.

Not Sid. He’s pouring sweat, mechanically running through his sets like they don’t have a game in just a few hours, adding more weight than Zhenya remembers as his usual but still lifting it like it’s nothing, biceps straining and forearms veiny.

He’s hiding something.

Sid came back from Four Nations doing his best to pretend that his left arm wasn’t practically paralyzed, and he’s been spending pregames and most intermissions holed up with the trainers, getting wrapped and re-wrapped and injected with all sorts of shit to numb the pain and get him through games. He won’t hear a word of sitting any more out, but Zhenya’s seen the toll it’s taking on him.

Not today. Today, he’s going through his exercises like his elbow never was hurt in the first place. Not a wince, not a poorly-hidden grimace, nothing.

Whatever they gave Sid this morning, Zhenya wants it. His knee is better, but it aches when he skates for too long, and it’s making ominous creaking noises every morning when he gets out of bed.

Sid’s been cagey all morning, but Zhenya’s going to track him down and force it out of him. All hockey teams are secretive about their less-than-legit methods of keeping their players on ice no matter how injured they are, but Zhenya’s not used to being shut out of a new miracle cure. Is he not as deserving as Sidney Crosby of pain relief and enhanced performance?

The doctors and trainers are a dead end, they’re used to Zhenya by now and won’t give him anything. The weak link, as always, is Sid himself.

Zhenya times his approach perfectly; Sid’s in the middle of carefully lowering the bar back onto the rack when Zhenya plants himself between Sid and the rest of the room. If Sid tried to slither away now, it would be noticeable enough to cause a stir.

“Hi, Sid,” Zhenya says sweetly, baring his teeth in a smile. “Look good. Elbow better?”

Sid sits up and rolls his shoulders back, eyeing Zhenya warily. There’s a droplet of sweat making its way down from his hairline. Zhenya’s eyes trace it all the way to Sid’s cheekbone before he gets a response.

“Lots better, thanks,” Sid finally says, shaking out his left arm a little. It’s for show; Zhenya’s not an idiot, and it rankles that after all this time Sid thinks he’ll be fooled by something like that. “I figured I should get a pump in before we play, you know, get the blood flowing.” He swings his legs over so he’s sitting sideways on the bench. “That all? Because I was gonna find Ned, give him a little pep talk.”

“What they give you?” Zhenya says, furious suddenly—with the evasion, with the way Sid won’t meet his eyes. “Shot, maybe, or pill? Why you get and nobody else?”

He’s raised his voice enough that guys are starting to look at them, and Sid’s face goes hard and unpleasant before he gets to his feet, grabs Zhenya by the shirt, and hauls him out of the weight room.

Zhenya starts to protest, but Sid hisses not here at him, and the promise of an answer makes Zhenya pliant as Sid drags them down the hallway and into one of the video rooms the team never uses anymore.

“Fuck, you’re annoying,” Sid complains, slamming the door shut and whirling on Zhenya, crossing his arms over his chest. Zhenya frowns at him—he could have sworn Sid’s shoulders weren’t this big on Thursday. Is there some new fast-acting steroid he’s testing out?

He’s so busy thinking through the implications of a shot that can give you that much more visible, functional muscle in under four hours that he must have misheard what Sid said. “Sorry, huh?”

Sid narrows his eyes. “I said, I’m in a time loop,” he snaps, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’ve been in here for…six weeks now, when I wake up tomorrow. Today, again. Whatever. It’s been today 41 times as of this morning.”

“Shit,” Zhenya says blankly, sitting down in one of the chairs and abruptly remembering why they don’t use this room anymore when a spring jabs him unceremoniously in the ass. “Sid, Jesus, how this happen?”

“I don’t know!” Sid says, throwing his hands in the air. “Obviously, like, if I knew why I was here I’d just…take care of it, end this damn thing. Do you really think I’m doing this by choice?” His voice cracks.

“Sorry,” Zhenya mutters, guilt lurching through his gut. All he could see this morning was Sid’s perfectly-functioning elbow seemingly mocking Zhenya’s achy knee, but now that he’s looking closely Sid looks frayed around the edges, exhausted and tense. He’s got black circles under his eyes, and he can’t stand still.

Sid’s usually so calm on game days, a soothing presence in the arena that settles everyone down no matter how nervy they are. Seeing him like this is unsettling. Zhenya wants to bundle him into his car and drive them to the safety of his house set back in the woods until they figure this out.

Time loops are vanishingly rare, at least the ones publicly talked about are. The people who stumble out of them are usually fundamentally altered somehow—traumatized even, in some cases. It’s not as simple as waking up on the same day over and over, as if that in and of itself isn’t a total mindfuck—if you’re in a time loop, time doesn’t stop for you. Whatever happens to you on a given day stays with you when you wake up the next morning, weeks and months and in some gruesome cases decades piling onto your body and mind until you figure out how to break free.

Sid’s only been in for six weeks. Not long enough for significant changes, not really, but certainly long enough for him to have visibly bulked up if was taking his stress out on the weight machines. Zhenya can see razor burn on his face from where he must have been shaving every day to try and maintain his stubble.

“Okay,” Zhenya says, getting to his feet. “You tell to me before? You tell to anyone?”

“No,” Sid says, shoulders slumping a little. He looks like he’d been expecting a fight, or maybe like he’d have to spend more time arguing his case—as if Zhenya can’t tell when Sid’s trying to lie to him by now. “I thought about it, but…I think I know what I’m supposed to do, and it’s not anything anyone can help me with. I just…haven’t figured out how.”

Zhenya presses his lips together. “Stupid. Maybe it’s big pain for tell every day new again, but you should be tell me first thing, like, call me before we leave house. Shouldn’t be doing alone, even if you’re think I can’t help.” Sid’s probably wrong about that, Zhenya adds to himself. Sid always thinks he has to do everything alone, that he has to shoulder the burden of an entire team—an entire league—all by himself. 

“Maybe,” Sid mutters, slumping back against the wall. He looks so exhausted. Zhenya wonders how sleeping words in a loop—does Sid wake up feeling refreshed for a few seconds before it all comes crashing down, or does the reset happen when he’s only gotten a few hours? “Well, you know now. We’ll see how happy you are when I wake you up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to read you in.”

“Not have to, because we fix today,” Zhenya says, injecting his voice with as much confidence as he can. “What you think you need to do?”

Sid sighs heavily. “I have to figure out how to get us a win today,” he says, voice dire. “I’ve tried everything, G, I really have. I’ve even called and said I was sick and needed to be scratched just to shake stuff up and still no. I called my mom, god, she thought I was dying or something. Basically anything that can happen in a hockey game, I’ve watched it happen.” His eyes go dark and distant for a minute, and Zhenya doesn’t want to know what he’s reliving, what he’s seen. Hockey is a lot more dangerous than any of them like to think too long about.

Shaking his head, Sid meets Zhenya’s eyes. “Basically anything that can happen I’ve seen,” he repeats, “and not a single time have I been able to pull a win off in this one. There was one where I thought maybe…it was a ten-round shootout, but even then we fell short.” He sighs, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know what else to do,” he admits. “I’m so tired. My entire body aches, so badly. The gym helps, you know how a good workout makes you kind of forget how you’re feeling, but…I can’t do this for much longer.”

That’s the other danger of a time loop, the one nobody likes to talk about too loudly.

Zhenya isn't going to let that happen.

“Well, you enjoy last time today,” he says, clapping Sid’s shoulder. “We get win, you go to bed tonight, still have to play tomorrow but this time it’s Leafs, okay, still bad, but different. Yes?”

“Sure,” Sid mutters, but Zhenya can tell that he’s feeling better. It really was stupid of him to not say anything; six weeks is too long to be totally alone.

Sid leaves to hunt down Ned for whatever ghoulish pep talk he has in mind, and Zhenya makes his way to the lounge, head spinning.

He doesn’t know a single person who’s looped. There was an experimental vaccine back when Zhenya was a child, something that claimed to block a person’s ability to fall into one—when he’d disclosed it to the Penguins’ medical staff for the first time they had exchanged horrified looks, but nobody in Zhenya’s entire city that got the shot has looped.

Zhenya wants to help Sid. Is determined to, really. But now that he’s alone and thinking about it, he doesn’t know what to do. All he can do is control his own play, make sure he’s giving it his all out there and give the team the best chance to win.

That will have to be enough. He won’t let them fail Sid again.

—

They come agonizingly close. 

Close isn’t good enough, though, and Zhenya shatters his stick in the hallway back to the locker room after the final buzzer sounds.

“Easy, big guy,” Rusty says, skirting his stall with an odd look. “It’s one game, eh, save it for tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Zhenya mutters, plucking at his skates and swearing as his trembling fingers fumble at the sodden, ice-cold laces. 

From across the room, Sid barks out a bitter laugh, one he cuts off quickly. Zhenya keeps his head ducked down.

Four points last game and not a thing to show when Sid actually needed him. He doesn’t think he can meet Sid’s eyes.

He settles some in the shower, thinking through what’s next. Maybe Sid was wrong. It’s still so early in the day, after all, and who knows what Sid’s been doing post-game this whole time—maybe there’s something else he’s missing because he got fixated on winning this game. He’ll just go to Sid’s after the game and they’ll keep trying, and if they can’t get it tonight, he’ll make Sid promise to call him first thing tomorrow and explain it right away.

The logistics make his head spin. He doesn’t fully understand how it’s possible that Sid could pick up the phone to call him tomorrow—today again—and Zhenya won’t remember a thing, but Sid will. It should be impossible.

All the more reason to work as hard as possible to fix it tonight.

Sid dawdles in the room like usual, but Zhenya’s lurking at the door must get his attention, because finally he packs away his stuff and gets to his feet, patting Ricky on the shoulder as he makes his way to Zhenya’s side.

“We tried, eh?” he says as they walk to the garage. Zhenya doesn’t like how defeated he sounds. “That was a new score at least—before this one it’s been the same for a few days. Maybe it means things are moving in the right direction.” He doesn’t sound like he believes a word he’s saying.

“I come home with you,” Zhenya says, and Sid snaps his head to look at him, eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. “Well, first I stop at my house, get freezer pelmeni. You need real food, not shit from meal service. We eat, you feel better, we think about maybe it’s something that’s not game, we try stuff.”

“You’ll let me have some of the freezer pelmeni?” Sid asks, and he sounds so pathetically grateful that Zhenya’s heart breaks a little.

“You get all freezer pelmeni,” he promises recklessly—there are several pounds stuffed in his kitchen freezer, and more down in the basement ice box, but Zhenya will give it all up if it makes Sid smile in a real way. “Want good vodka too? I bring.”

Sid’s eyes crinkle a little. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Either way, I’m playing a game tomorrow, so…better not.”

“Right,” Zhenya mutters, calculating how much sour cream he’ll need to bring. Sid only has Greek yogurt at his house, and that won’t work. “Okay, I go get food, then come over. You change code yet?” Sid changes his gate code every Saturday out of what Zhenya used to call paranoia but after the break-in earlier this fall is starting to think is maybe just good sense.

Sid hesitates. “I didn’t for a while, I wasn’t sure if it…but it felt weird not to, so yeah, I actually just changed it yesterday. Um, it’s 073186.”

It takes Zhenya a second, but��� “My birthday!” he says, charmed. “Sid, so sweet. I remember for sure, maybe you keep for a while.”

“Maybe I will,” Sid says, looking at Zhenya for a shade too long before shaking his head. “See you in a bit.”

Zhenya watches the way Sid clambers into his car, the slowness in his movements. He really is reaching the end of what he’s physically capable of. They have to figure this out tonight.

He stuffs Sid full of his mama’s cooking first. Sid protests the full-fat sour cream, but when Zhenya ignores him in favor of dolloping several spoonfuls onto his plate he stops arguing. Zhenya watches until Sid’s had his entire first serving and is helping himself to more before he relaxes. He might not have been able to win Sid this game, but he can at least feed him properly.

After dinner, they talk. Zhenya prods at Sid about unreturned phone calls, events he might have forgotten to attend, anything that could be hanging over his head that might be the key to all of this. 

Sid gets prickly at the implication he’s forgotten anything, of course, but Zhenya keeps pushing until Sid relents and walks them both through everything he did the day before he started looping. Try as he might, Zhenya can’t find a single thing that Sid forgot, a single transgression that would be egregious enough to tip him into this nightmare.

Once they run out of things to say, they fall silent, sprawled out on Sid’s big couch. Zhenya thinks about Sid spending the last six weeks alone in here, watching the clock tick by and waiting for the day to end, falling asleep hoping that he’d figured it out only to wake up the next day and have to do it all over again, and his throat gets thick and his eyes prickle with tears.

“Oh, G,” Sid says, and Zhenya scrubs furiously at his face. This isn’t about him, he shouldn’t be making Sid give him comfort. “No, c’mon, it’s not that bad, I mean…” The sofa cushion Zhenya’s occupying dips as Sid scoots closer until they’re pressed together. “It sucks, yeah, but now I’ve got you, right? I can…like you said, I can call you and tell you, and I’ll have you all day, and maybe we really will figure it out. Just having someone else know…you were right. It was dumb of me to not talk to you right away.”

Overcome with emotion, Zhenay wraps his arms around Sid’s shoulders and hauls him close, ignoring Sid’s protests. He can’t stand it—Sid doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve living through this shit, not after everything he’s already sacrificed his whole life

“Not fair,” he whispers into Sid’s hair. “Sid, so sorry, I want to fix so bad for you. It’s not fair.”

Sid squirms in his arms a little, pulling back so he can look at Zhenya. “No, it’s not,” he agrees. “It hasn’t been all bad, though. I mean, the loss sucked. But otherwise today’s been pretty great. And it’ll be okay if I do all this again tomorrow with you.” He hesitates for a minute, eyes flickering over Zhenya’s face. “I guess there’s one thing I haven’t been honest about,” he admits, and Zhenya’s heart leaps. “It won’t…I mean, it’s been years. If the loop was from that, it should have happened way before now. But, well.” He leans forward and brushes a kiss over Zhenya’s mouth, dry and soft and over before Zhenya can even properly react. “You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he says quietly, cupping Zhenya’s chin, “and I’m sorry I didn’t ask first. But it’s not like I’d ever tell you this for real, and maybe that makes me a coward, but I may as well tell you once even if it doesn’t stick, eh?”

Zhenya touches his lips. Sid’s mouth on his had been so brief, but he feels like his whole face is buzzing. He doesn’t know what to say.

Sid smiles sadly at him. “It’s okay,” he says, correctly interpreting Zhenya’s stunned silence. “I’m not expecting anything. Don’t worry about it, eh, you’ll wake up tomorrow and it won’t have ever happened for you. I guess maybe I thought…” He shakes his head and gets to his feet. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says, glancing at the clock. “I know it’s early, but I’m so tired. Game day tomorrow, after all.” He waits for a minute longer, but when Zhenya still doesn’t speak, he purses his lips. “You can take a guest room if you want. You know where everything is.”

Zhenya listens to Sid’s heavy footsteps. It’s not until Sid’s bedroom door shuts that he feels like he can move again.

There are things that you don’t think about when you’re a pro athlete, feelings you’re not allowed to have. It’s part of the sacrifice to make it this far—damage to your body, and denial of your self. Zhenya did the math on that years ago, weighed his options and made his choices with clear eyes.

He’s never been good at tucking away his emotions long-term though, not like Sid is. Zhenya wears his heart on his sleeve, always has. It makes him a better hockey player, but it also leaves him more susceptible to heartbreak and far too aware of feelings he’d be better off shoving down and ignoring.

Zhenya always thought Sid was bad at lying, or at least bad at lying to him. It turns out that Sid’s been holding in a secret for…fuck, he’d said years, years he’s kept this from Zhenya, and Zhenya had no idea.

He’s not sure he would have been brave enough to do anything if he’d found out any earlier. Now, though?

He drives home in a daze. Staying at Sid’s house doesn’t feel right, not like this. He had a momentary fit of insanity where he considered crawling into Sid’s bed, wrapping his arms around him and letting Sid’s loop suck him in too, but he’s pretty sure that’s not possible, and if it was it wouldn’t help anything anyway.

I have to remember, he chants to himself as he gets ready for bed. I have to remember. I have to remember. I have to remember.

He falls asleep mumbling to himself.

—

When his alarm goes off the next morning, it takes Zhenya a minute to blink sleep out of his eyes.

His eyes fly open. He remembers. 

The display on his phone reads MARCH 2. Heart in his throat, Zhenya pulls up Sid’s contact and hits call.

Sid’s phone barely rings once before he answers. “G?” he says, voice raspy like he spent the night crying. “Is it really tomorrow?”

“It’s tomorrow,” Zhenya whispers down the line, clutching the phone to his ear. “Sid, it’s tomorrow. And I remember.”

[gars-weaponeer]

Today in: Clones Characters that deserved better!

Issue #2

-CID-

No it's not a joke- HEAR ME OUT!

First of all- I'm not gonna sit here and say that Cid was a good character and she doesn't deserve all the hate.

She is a horrible person and she totally sucks-

What I mean is that I feel like she was cut short and her story was not finished. This is not unusual with the Bad batch enemies and antagonists that are not cameos. Hemlock also suffering from this "half written" desease. The only one I think had a full arc and a satisfactory-ish end was Rampant but that's another story.

Cid in particularly resonates with me cause the old lizard has a very interesting design. She is a trandoshan and she is the first of her kind that we ever see being both female ( i think) and elder. Most of the other Trandoshans we have seen in the movies, videogames and series are mostly adult males. She is also an ally at first, which is also weird for a Trandoshan, being usually the go-to when writers need a "enemy alien". And sure, this could be read as she already being an antagonist from the beginning- But I never liked star war's trend of having a certain species being "the evil species." So having a trandoshan ally was something that I was excited about!

I wanna see more Trandoshan allies and more Wookie villains.

Sure, when we first meet her she is not the best person, making it clear to us that she cares more about money than making friends with the batch. Their relationship is strictly business like- However the more we see her during season one the more we see her connect with the batch. Specially with Omega.

Sure- She connects with Omega cause she notices Omega can be useful to her. But it's thanks to Cid that Hunter and the rest start to treat Omega as a member of the team, rather than a charge they need to take care of. She has also given her a few tips on how to use the bow that have helped Omega in the long run.

It almost seemed like Cid's arc was to eventually warm up to the Batch, they seemed to work well together and even ally well when time required it... so by the end of season one I was convinced this would be her path.

Then, season two episode 4: Faster, came along and I noticed something weird...

While some of us were drooling over Tech's masterful abilities in the racing track(me included)- I began to notice on the re-runs that there was a certain character development in Cid.

She seemed to really want to change, to become a better person from who she used to be. (btw, we never learn more about her past- which is not a bad thing, but it also adds to her missing pieces.) She wants to prove to Millegi that she is not the ruthless, spineless, money-driven tradoshan she once was and we see that determination in her face, for a moment.

This was the first and only time that we have been shown Cid to be vulnerable. Really vulnerable. And I find it strange for a character that we were supposed to "hate" in the end, to have a whole episode where we see her vulnerable side. Which kind of tip me off that Cid had more story to her that was inevitable cut down by the studio deciding to cut the series short.

At the same time, on the same episode, we have Millegi's warning about Cid. Something that is meant to be forshadowing. So by the end of Faster, we got this information:

-Cid is not a good person and she never was, so the bad batch is right for not fully trusting her. -But Cid wants to change, or at least wants to convince herself that she has/can changed. -However, she might have trouble in the future failing to not fall into old habits.

However... this was pretty much the last episode where Cid was relevant at all.

We don't see her again until 5 episodes later, in Crossing/Retrieval. Where the Batch call's Cid for Help and she just leaves them on read.

How.... did we pass from Cid having character development to she just straight abandoning the Batch with little explanation other than "This is more trouble than it's worth"?

And THEN- when we see her again is already at the end of the season, on episode 16- Plan 99. Where Cid has a conversation with Wrecker and she reveals to them that she *had* to sell them out.

But instead of sounding condescending or proud of selling them off. Being all like: "I told you what would happen if you crossed me!" or something like that. You know... showing us that she really didn't care to sell the bad batch to Hemlock, we see her reluctant and even regretful.

Like she really, really, didn't had a choice. Like she really, really, didn't wanted to do so.

But she did- Because in the end, she is still that old Cid.

She decided that looking after herself, going down her old habits, was better than risking her skin for them.

And YEAH WHAT A BITCH- But it still feels... weird.

Like I'm not being told the whole context.

After this episode we never see Cid again, she is mentioned and somewhat implied that she was tortured or killed by CX-2 but she kind of just fizzles out... And it feels wrong, seeing how she was an important member of the cast during season 1.

I'M NOT GONNA LIE-

I was *convinced* that Phee was going to be the evil one.

Phee suffers from the "Disney girl boss" fever and she is too perfect for her own good, which is another rant for another ocasión. - So I was sure that she would double cross the Bad batch. She couldn't be that perfect... right?

She would appear being all cool, and having Omega look up to her and the batch trusting her easily by how cool she is- only for her to turn on them cause she is a pirate.

All for the batch to realize they were better off with Cid.

A classic "not everything that shines is gold" kind of stuff. But obviously that is not what happened. Uu

So here is my take on what I think Cid's arc was supposed to be.

We have two paths: the Good end and the bad end.

-BAD END-

Cid would connect back with the batch. Apologizing for not offering help with some excuse like "The empire was on my back" or something like that. Trying to sell the story that she was looking out for them.

We would have more situations where the Batch start trusting Cid again, but Phee is the one that warns them not to keep playing her games. That maybe they should finally break ties with her.

Before they can do that, plan 99 doesn't happens and the Batch hurries to take refuge with Cid. This time they "trust" her enough to believe that they would be safe.

Only to then be revealed that Cid sold them out for a huge amount of money. Cid would be shown to be unapologetic, saying something like "It's nothing personal, it's just business."

Then we either never see her again, Or we would see her demise via greed on another episode. Maybe tied with the Durand for it to be more poetic.

Cid would be a character we would all hate for being a total bitch- but we would have more context and more flavor to her betrayal.

Full on villain mode.

-GOOD END-

Cid get's a redemption arc in this one.

Things would go normally. But it would be remarked that Cid silence was unusual.

After Cid's betrayal and Omega being taken away, we would later on see Cid finding Hunter and Wrecker again.

Hunter and Wrecker are upset with her- obviously, But Cid begs for them to give her a chance to explain herself.

She tells them that she went radio silent cause the Empire had arrived on Ord Mantel and that Hemlock made her a deal she could not refuse.

She did not wanted to sell the batch, but she had no choice. It was them or her.

This would Upset Hunter, which would probably say something like : "Omega trusted you."

This would hit Cid hard, since we were already shown that she and Omega had a little connection.

Cid would then admit that she was a coward and that she fell back into her old habits out of fear, but would decide to offer her help freely to Hunter and Wrecker as she owns Omega that much.

With Cid's help as an information matrix, we would see Hunter and Wrecker keep looking. Cid giving them tips and bits of information that could be useful for them to complete missions.

It would be thanks to Cid that they receive Omega's message and that they are finally reunited.

After that, Cid would continue to help them locate Tantiss. Cid stays on Ord Mantel, trying to act unconscious as to not bring the attention of the rest of the batch in Pabu.

However she is confronted by CX-2, (who is obviously Tech, I'll die on this HILL!), This time Cid would refuse to her her old habits get the better of her, and she would try to fight him off with her wits.

She would try to trap him on the old mines under, and when she thinks she has bested him, she would ultimately be killed.

Just as she is about to die, Cid takes out a detonator and destroys the cantina and all the information CX-2 could get from the Bad Batch. Honoring her word for once and completing her redemption arc.

This of course is just my opinion and speculation.

I could be reading way too much into this and Cid was never actually supposed to be that deep.

But either way, I just wanted to share these thoughts, as they keep me up at nights sometimes.

Overall, the end is still the same: The Bad Batch ended too early and lots of characters suffered for it.

They deserved better.

[thecrimsonvalley-creates]

~ Ho ho Holy shit what a year ! ~ Grief and Vitu trying to get some rest in between the festivities at the hotel. They're both exhausted. They deserve a raise so badly! Rounding out this year with another little piece of holiday art of mine and @nattravn-art's Rusty Lake oc's <3

[thegreatyin]

i am DELIGHTED that everyone agrees on me apparently really needing to draw more caeru. i agree too. here's more caeru.

(ask meme here)

[rammbles]

am i okay? no

am i thrilled they are finally taking the time off they so deserve? absolutely!

but am i okay? no

[fictionadventurer]

Actual February Reads

The Thrifty Guide to Ancient Rome: A Handbook for Time Travelers by Jonathan Stokes: As someone who knows next to nothing about Ancient Rome, this was a very fun way to learn the basics (and get reminded that ancient royals were very brutal).

East by Edith Pattou: I read this once a long time ago and disliked it. Now, it might deserve a spot on the all-time best retellings list. The multiple first-person narrators and lots of real-world details give it a nicely literary quality. However, I can't shake a feeling of disappointment--the very real-world setting makes me more uncomfortable with the way she presented some magical elements, and makes it lose a lot of the sense of wonder, especially in the ending parts, by taking away the most fairy-tale elements (no riding the four winds, for example.)

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh: I've talked about this one a lot. My dislike/disappointment built to an explosion of outright hatred by the time I got to the ocean liner chapters, but it resolved into a nice ending that's been annoyingly helpful spiritually.

Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow by Jessica Day George: Another "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" retelling that I liked better the second time. I hated the first two-thirds--too much focus on her brother's story, too many random elements that felt like a third-rate Disney movie, and horrible behavior from the hero and heroine. The transformed prince forcing a sapient polar bear to die? Not cool. And the girl! Looking at the prince's face is an understandable mistake in the original; here, she is surrounded by people who beg her to stop investigating, who are being killed because she's investigating, and she still doesn't stop! How am I supposed to be on her side? But then the moment her journey starts, this story comes very close to my ideal retelling of the fairy tale. Help from mysterious old women! The fairy tale imagery of the different winds! I wasn't crazy about the complicated explanations of how the magic works (never a strength of the author's), but otherwise, I loved the ending almost as much as I disliked the rest of the book.

Plato in 90 Minutes by Paul Strahern: Too flippant and opinionated, but it did what it promised: I got the gist of Plato's life story in less than an hour.

Deus Caritas Est by Pope Benedict XVI: I'd recently read/listened to some things about similar topics, so this wasn't as mindblowing as it might have been, but it still had some lovely thoughts. I especially loved the explanation of how charity is a vital function of the Church.

The Fairy's Mistake by Gail Carson Levine: I didn't expect to like this reread, given that my retelling of "Diamonds and Toads" is partially a rebuttal to the cynical/satirical attitude in this one. I didn't like it much, (and I outright hated the "she fell in love with the prince despite him showing no character growth" of the ending), but it wasn't quite as obnoxious as I remembered, and it was cute enough for what it was.

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine: I still love this book. I'm at the point where I'm so familiar with the good parts of the book that the only new observations are nitpicks, but it's still a top-tier retelling.

Sir Orfeo, translated by J.R.R. Tolkien: I finally read it! It felt less like Orpheus than I expected, but there is a lot of resonance with other fairy tales of this type, and I loved the strong relationships on display.

Cuddy Yarborough's Daughter by Una Silberrad: Once again, Silberrad's strength is the characters. Sam's a charming, sensible extrovert, Violet's a sensible parentified daughter, Maud's a charming beauty whose thoughtlessness becomes more and more horrifying as the book goes on. Not much really happened, but I'm glad I pushed through and saw the end of the character arcs. I was really dreading that the endgame was going to be a marriage between a young girl and an adult she's known since childhood, but Silberrad managed to pull it off in the least creepy way possible (the guy has zero romantic thoughts about her until like the last page of the book when it's clear she's in love with him), so I could almost be okay with it.

Prudence and the Romantic Poet by Nina Clare: The romance had its cute moments, and I liked the idea of the story, but the execution was pretty dull. Especially in the last chapters, where most scenes became a parade of names as we meet up with all the other characters from the rest of the series.

Vibrant Paradoxes by Bishop Robert Barron: Pretty good essays. All nice and short. Nothing mind-blowing (I can't remember very many specifics of any of them), and these essays make it clearer where my theology diverges from his, but I'm glad I read it.

Potential February Reads

East by Edith Pattou

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

The Beggar Prince by Kate Stradling

The Thrifty Guide to Ancient Rome: A Handbook for Time Travelers by Jonathan Stokes

Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare

The Frindle Files by Andrew Clement

A fantasy romance

[the-gayest-show]

consumed by thoughts about cedric the sorcerer, forced to be a normal high schooler

[bayleequits]

EVERYONE STAND AND REJOICE!! IT IS GEORGE DANIELS BIRTHDAY!!!! YIPPEE I LOVE THAT (old) MAN LIKE NO BODY CAN

[orcelito]

So im at 724,637 words posted to ao3 now. Which means I've got another 275k words before I hit a million posted.

I wonder how long it'll take for me to get there... if I manage to tap into some good writing motivation juice again, I could definitely do that within a year. It'll probably be more than just ITNL, but I have a feeling that ITNL will be a good chunk of it...

Just need to get back into the swing of things. ITNL could certainly be well over 400k words once I actually really get into it

[thenexusofsouls]

"Wanda... listen to me," Tony said, still cupping her face and trying to get her to focus on him. "I know you wanna help, and I love you for that. And I know it's what we do, but we normally do it for humans. I don't know what just happened to you. Or why. Or how to fix it. These are literal aliens. We know next to nothing about them. For all we know, you mind melding with this thing might kill you."

"Pilot is not a thing, he is a kind and gentle soul," Zhaan said, even as she continued to try and comfort him.

"Who just cracked somebody's skull," Tony reminded her.

"Haven't you ever been so afraid that you were not in control of your body or your emotions?" Zhaan challenged him.

Yes. Yes he had. And he didn't want to talk about that "My point is, we have no idea what he even is, so we don't know the risks to us of helping him."

"He is of a race of peaceful beings from the planet Doien," Zhaan explained.

"Never heard of that, and he looks like a giant crustacean. His labs are all over the place, and while we're at it, so are yours. All we got from your blood was a bunch of plant cells," Tony said. "And since I find it hard to believe that he's a bug and you're a house plant, something's screwy here."

"How very animal-centric of you," Zhaan said, trying hard not to lose her patience with him. "I am a plant, and Pilot is a sentient being in his own right who deserves respect."

"You're a-" Tony blinked, and then was distracted by Wanda still pleading with him to help. He didn't know why he didn't think of the regeneration cradle earlier, but he wasn't quite sure it would work on a genome as strange as this creature's. The cradle was just a machine, though. It didn't know that an odd genome was being programmed into it. So shouldn't it just work the same way it did when it helped to patch up Clint or Steve or anyone else? "She's... taking care of it, she's got it under control, look, he's... he's calming down," Tony said, pointing to Zhaan and Pilot, trying to reassure Wanda.

Pilot's large eyes lazily blinked and he seemed very lethargic.

"Actually, he is growing weak from blood loss," Zhaan corrected.

"You-... Could you just... work with me a little?" Tony said.

"When you work with me!" Zhaan snapped before catching herself and forcing her temper back down.

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt," Tony said.

"You do not want any of your own people to get hurt, and straight to hezmana with the rest of us, is that right?" Zhaan said, losing her battle to keep her temper on a leash.

"That's not what I said, I don't... even know what a hezmana is," Tony insisted. "We have good intentions here, we're just tryna be safe."

"Your actions suggest otherwise," Zhaan said.

Tony sighed. At Wanda's question of whether the DNA analysis could be done faster, he shrugged. "I don't know. Usually when we send stuff to the lab, it takes a few hours. That's just how long the assays take, I guess. I really don't know, that's not my area. I'll tell them to fast track it, if that's even possible." He snapped his fingers a few times to get the attention of a nearby staff member. "Hey, can you get me someone over at medical? We need to sample this guy's blood and get things rolling here." The person nodded and started off toward the med bay. "Okay, we're gonna do this as fast as we can. We'll come sample... some of this... and start working on a genome," he said to Zhaan.

"Thank you," Zhaan said, though she'd believe it when she saw it. For now, she sat with Pilot's head practically on her lap, holding and stroking it. Pilot was either unconscious or resting, with eyes closed and his limbs splayed out around Zhaan. She looked around at the pool of Pilot's blood, wondering if it was the best and cleanest sample to obtain. They had one shot at this, for Pilot might not live long enough to try again if it didn't work the first time. "I think it is safe now to take a sample directly. He's... very weak. I don't believe he has the strength to lash out again."

- - - - -

As irritated at being locked up as Aeryn was, this guy was actually talking with them and she felt like they might get somewhere with him. For that reason, she tried to keep the sass to a minimum, despite the bad first impressions. "Well if this is Earth, then... we are from a galaxy very far away from yours. And as the little one here just said, we're fugitives, which means we're being hunted."

"Little one?!" Rygel huffed in offense.

Aeryn continued, undaunted. "We are wanted by Peacekeeper Command out of the Gammak Base. At the moment, both my former commanding officer, Captain Bialar Crais, and a Scarran half breed, Scorpius, are hunting us for different reasons. If either of them find us, the best we can hope for is imprisonment. The worst... is torture and execution."

Rygel winced, his pudgy fingers curling in fear.

"What we would need from you... is either to lie and say you haven't seen us, or to refuse to give us up to them if their ships should happen to enter your planet's airspace searching for us. Unfortunately, the latter may make your planet a target of theirs," Aeryn explained.

"Why would they protect us? They've got no reason to!" Rygel said.

"He asked what we would need, Rygel, I am simply answering his question," Aeryn said.

"Crais and Scorpius won't be looking for us here. They'll be looking for Moya," Rygel said.

"I know, but... until we can communicate with someone back on Moya, we won't know where they are. They might have left already," she said.

"And abandoned us here?!" Rygel asked, his eyes growing wide.

"Why not? You would," Aeryn said.

Rygel growled a bit, though he couldn't refute that. Aeryn knew him too well, and he didn't like that one bit.

When asked about Moya, Aeryn thought for a moment. "Leviathans cannot defend themselves, they can only starburst away to avoid attack and evade capture. But... as long as she has Pilot with her to guide her, she should be alright. And whoever else might be left aboard."

But then Steve mentioned two others and Aeryn's eyes widened. "Two others?! Why didn't you say something?! Where are they? Did you get their names?"

"Not Crichton," Rygel concluded. "I think we would have known by now if they'd found one of their own kind. I bet they would've let him out of these cages..."

"Can you describe them? Do any of them have tentacles all over their face? Or gray skin? Or..." she didn't want to think about this happening, but she had to admit to herself that it certainly could have, "...is one of them a large insect-like being?"

"What about a blue bald woman?" Rygel asked.

“Are you friend or foe?” (For Zhaan)

Zhaan looked up at the young woman from where she sat inside her holding cell, not unlike the one used by Loki years prior. "Given our respective positions on either side of these walls in which I find myself imprisoned, I would say... at present... neither. But there is time yet for misunderstandings to be cleared and injustices to be set right." Her tone was not antagonistic, but it was guarded. She did not appreciate being incarcerated yet again after finally escaping Peacekeeper oppression after a number of years, yet she could hardly blame this woman for that. Still, trust was something that would have to be built.

The wormhole that had facilitated the invasion of New York City was not to be the only such anomaly to occur, it seemed. Another had just been detected, though this time, the results had been far less... dramatic. Something had come through, however. Perhaps several somethings. Both SHIELD and the Department of Defense were still attempting to determine exactly what.

One being had been captured thus far. A Delvian, apparently, by her own admission. No one had any idea what a Delvian was, or what such a being was capable of. For now, she was being contained at the Avengers compound, both because of the unknown level of threat she posed and for biological containment purposes. She could be carrying pathogenic microbes, after all.

Zhaan had been both interested and concerned to discover that she was on the planet Earth. It was John Crichton's home planet. How agonizingly ironic that she should be sent here and not him. Still, it was a planet entirely unfamiliar to her, and for that reason, she had to remain cautious. Although most of the humans who encountered her seemed unwilling to treat her as anything more than a caged pet, an oddity on display, or a test subject to be poked and prodded, there had been a few who had bothered to actually speak with her. Through them, she had learned where she was, at least, but was no closer to being able to gain her freedom.

And now... this young woman had chosen to speak to her. She did not look like the usual soldier or government official that had spoke to her - no, interrogated her - up until this point. That gave Zhaan some hope that perhaps this might be a different sort of interaction. Slowly, she rose from the bench she had been sitting on and walked closer to the glass. If the relative age of Crichton was to be any basis for comparison, this woman looked very young indeed. Then again, all humans were young ones compared to Zhaan. Eighty years... That was about how long Crichton had said the average human lived. Zhaan had already lived ten times that long.

Standing closer to the woman, inasmuch as the glass was still dividing the space between them, Zhaan's polite smile faded into a look of concern. Despite her situation, she was still an empath and a tenth level Pa'u, and for those reasons, she found it impossible to ignore the pain of others... even that of her own captors. "My goodness... There is such a heavy sadness that follows you," Zhaan said, her voice gentle and almost pained, as if she was feeling it too. It felt like... grief to her, but with humans she could never really be sure at first impression. She simply wasn't as familiar with their minds and emotions yet. "Are you alright?"

[swagging-back-to]

was trying to find out how many kills qualifies a scout for elite status and i---

2 BILLION.... yall eren has big dick energy from here to PLUTO for fucking reallll

how tf yall out here calling levi badass for a MEASELY 150. even zeke killed more than levi.